The Stillness of Night
by Maeve of Winter
Summary: When Kevin turns up mysteriously injured and refuses to talk about how he got hurt, Sheriff Keller slowly discovers his son was the victim of a horrific attack. Father-son fic. WARNING FOR RAPE/NONCON.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is a Riverdale fic, but it's intermingled with some elements of the comics, including Kevin and the Keller family's background. Sheriff Keller's first name is also taken from the comics.

* * *

 **Day One**

For the first time Tom could remember in weeks, he was at home but the rest of the kids weren't. Of course, this day was his first weekend free since the close of the Jason Blossom case. After months of poring over the evidence and suspects, weaving his way through the seemingly endless parade of individuals with grudges against any one of the Blossom family, Tom was exhausted. However, he thankful he had pushed through and finally managed to find the truth.

Of all things, Jason's murder had been because of drugs, a depressingly common cause of killing. He had tried to become a dealer to earn extra money, but the competition hadn't appreciated his venture into their turf. And now, his killers had been arrested. It had been a long, brutal case, and Tom was glad to see it concluded.

Sipping his coffee, Tom took a moment to appreciate the silence. It was early Saturday morning, and he was in his kitchen instead of at the station. No Mayor McCoy calling him every other hour for updates he didn't have, no following up on dead-end leads morning, noon, and night. And Lord, was he glad to have the free time.

Honestly, he would have preferred to spend the weekend with his family, but they had their own schedules to keep. His wife, Kathy, flew from one country to the next for work and was away more often than not. Eleven-year-old Patty was out camping with her Girl Scout Troop, and thirteen-year-old Denise was off with her travel soccer team.

Kevin was off having fun this weekend, thank God. Tom worried about that kid; he thought he pushed himself too hard with his schoolwork and extracurriculars, spending far too much time worrying about unnecessary details no one else paid any attention to. And when he wasn't doing something for school, he was completing chores around the house. Since Tom and Kathy's jobs demanded long hours, a large amount of the housework fell to the kids, and Kevin, as the oldest, got the brunt of it. Considering the kid was only sixteen, he did a damn good job of managing the household, running a tight ship and taking care of himself while also supervising his sisters.

But no matter what level of talent Kevin held for cooking and clean, Tom couldn't help but feel guilty for depending on a teenager for regular duties around the home, and perhaps that was why he allowed Kevin an inordinate amount of freedom in the few spare moments he did have. Tom was determined to ensure Kevin got out of the house every once in a while. He needed to take more time to relax, to have fun. So when Kevin told him he was spending the night at Reggie's house, "along with some of the other guys," Tom had gratefully sent him on his way.

Speak of the devil, and he came running. No sooner did Kevin drift into Tom's thoughts than did the house phone ring, the small screen displaying Kevin's cell number.

"Hey, Sport," Tom said cheerfully upon answering. "How you doing?"

"Fine, Dad." Kevin's tone was somewhat subdued, which was rather unlike himself. Kevin was strong and determined, and he took any setbacks in stride, very rarely becoming discouraged for any kind of reason.

Tom frowned, both his police and parental instincts on full alert. "You okay? You sound tired."

"I'm all right. Me and the boys just stayed up nearly all night, that's all," Kevin told him somewhat sheepishly. "Anyway, we're going out for breakfast together, and then I was planning on going to Veronica's place to help her and Betty out. They're getting ready for this bake sale for cheerleading. I know I didn't tell you in advance, but I promised, and—"

"Hey, Kev, relax," Tom said soothingly. "Of course you can go. And if you want to bring the girls, or the guys, or anyone else back later, I'm going out with the boys tonight for poker and beer. You'll have the house to yourself. Just call and let me know what your plans are."

"Okay. Thanks, Dad." Relief was evident in Kevin's voice. "Don't worry about making dinner for me tonight, okay? I'll fix myself something to eat."

"All right. You enjoy your time with your friends, you hear?" Tom said fondly. "You work yourself too hard."

"All right." Kevin sounded like he was smiling. "Take care."

"See ya," Tom said, and hung up the phone.

The best part of staying out late whether it be for business or pleasure, in Tom's opinion, was returning to their family home. Warm yellow light spilled out of the windows of the enormous old stone Tudor, creating an oasis of illumination. Since the house was set further back from the road along a heavy treeline, it stood out as a shining beacon against the night's darkness.

Truthfully, the house was far bigger than they needed. But Tom had inherited it a few years back, when Kevin was only in the sixth grade, and not long afterward an injury had forced him to retire from the Army. The prospect of moving into a house to settle down permanently was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Plus, the mortgage was already paid, and all the yards were nice and big, ideal for the kids to play in. So the Kellers had packed their bags and moved to Riverdale, and Tom had gone from Colonel to Sheriff.

Pulling his truck into the three-car garage, Tom noted with some dismay that Kevin's old Ford Bronco was already there. He had hoped that Kevin would be out enjoying himself instead of stuck at home working on projects for student government, or community service club, or Lord knew what else.

Then again, Tom reasoned as he stepped into the main area of the house, Kevin did keep a demanding schedule with swim team and his various clubs and committees. He could understand if Kevin wanted the chance to rest.

"Hey, Kev!" He called as he walked down the hall toward the kitchen, passing the laundry room on the way. He could hear the soft hum of the washer completing its cycle, the only sound beyond his footsteps falling on the polished hardwood floor.

He frowned briefly when he received no response, but then shrugged as he moved past the empty living room. Maybe Kevin had gone out with his friends after all, just in someone else's car.

A gust of cold air greeted Tom in the kitchen, bringing him to start at the unexpected chill. The moment he noticed the temperature, alarm bells began going off in his brain. His fingers had automatically reached for the light switch the moment he enter the room, but he quickly withdrew his hand, not wanting to alert a potential intruder. One hand on his gun, he scanned the windows, searching for any signs of a break-in, rapidly going back over the drive home in his mind. Had there been suspicious activity that he had missed, too absorbed in his newfound freedom after end of the Blossom case?

Another blast of wind whistled through the house, and Tom tensed as he spotted the source of the cold: someone had opened the back door, leaving only the screen door in place. Upon inspection of the entrance, he heaved a sigh of relief. There were no signs of forced entry on the door, the lock was intact, and no scratches were visible on the paint. Kevin had probably mistakenly left it open when he departed for the evening.

Moving automatically, Tom ambled over to the sink, checking if he needed to add any items the dishwasher. There were no dishes in the sink, and he opened the dishwasher to see if he should switch on the wash cycle now or wait until later. To his surprise, the racks were void of any contents, despite his distinct recollection of them being half full when he had finished adding some dishes earlier that morning. Yet as he held out a hand, he could still feel the remaining heat from the recently completed drying cycle. Even though the dishwasher hadn't been at capacity, Kevin must have run the dishes through anyway, for whatever reason.

Straightening, Tom placed his hands on his hips and surveyed the room, trying to ease the growing sense of disquiet within himself. Really, his apprehensiveness didn't have much cause at all, just an appliance that was hot and a kitchen that was cold. Still, he couldn't shake the idea that something was very wrong.

Slowly pacing toward the breakfast nook, Tom observed a saran wrap-covered platter piled high with all sorts of baked goods, a note on the table next to it. Moonlight spilled in from the glass atrium overhead, rendering the words easily distinguishable.

 _Enjoy, Dad! —Kevin_

A smiley face followed his son's name.

No doubt the food was leftover from the supplies for the bake sale, and Kevin had decided to bring some home to share.

The gesture was straightforward but thoughtful, a seemingly simple gift that actually involved hours of labor and preparation. Honestly, the concept epitomized Kevin's nature: an individual willing to put time and effort toward a task from which he gained nothing, but still saw through to the end due to the knowledge someone else might benefit or be a little bit happier.

Nonetheless, the indication of his son's generosity could not sway Tom's rising unease. He wasn't able to pinpoint any sort of physical sign, nor manifest a particular idea, but he could not put aside the notion that something was amiss.

His fingers drifting back to his gun, Tom continued through the hall. His home, normally a source of comfort and familiarity to him, now seemed cavernous and foreboding, full of lurking shadows and wraithlike silence.

Past the kitchen was the dining room with its shining table and ornately carved chairs. Their family only ate in that room for holiday dinners or when they were entertaining company. Hell, Patty and Denise were used that table to work on their homework more than anyone actually used it to dine.

Across from the dining room was the parlor, which broke off to a brief entryway before leading to the main door. Beyond hosting the staircase, the parlor held a Steinway piano that all of the kids attended lessons to learn how to play, a propane fireplace with a scrollwork wooden mantle, and a set of tufted armchairs and matching sofa around a coffee table. The other items in the room were mostly ornamentation, set pieces for a display rather than serving an actual purpose or function—a tall vase containing a bunch white tree branches, a large woven basket full of firewood, and a console table with earthenware pottery. Kathy had always tried to cultivate a "contemporary rustic" decorating scheme in their home, with lots of wooden surfaces, dangling copper light fixtures, and warm, earthy colors. "Modern but country," she called it. The style reminded Tom of a farmhouse or hunting lodge.

But in Kathy's absence, Kevin seemed determined to make sure their living was more minimalist than anything else. He routinely donated unused and unvalued books, clothing, and knickknacks to people who actually needed them, and regularly sorted through miscellaneous household items to avoid accumulating clutter. Tom knew he owed the majority of the house's tidiness and organization to Kevin.

Next to the parlor was the home office he shared with Kathy, a spacious room with a great deal of windows, allowing for as much natural light as possible. The walls were wood, yellow pine, and still smelled like the beams were freshly cut from the forest.

Finally, at the end of the house there was the family room, Tom's favorite room in the house. The walls were exposed timber trimmed with white at the wide windows, a contrast against the barn red curtains. Leather couches and chairs surrounded the impressive cut stone fireplace, arranged so the family could relax and enjoy the warmth of the flames.

Tonight, though, Tom approached the room with a frown as he spotted the flickering light of the plasma screen television. Oddly, he couldn't hear any audio to match the visuals, and at first he thought the sound was muted. It wasn't until he reached the doorway that he could detect the faintest of chatter to go along with the flashing images. It was at that point that he also found his son there, sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, the bluish illumination from the TV dancing across his form.

Initially, Tom started at Kevin's unanticipated presence, but he quickly recovered. "Oh, there you are," he said amiably. "I was wondering if you were out."

He received no reaction whatsoever. Kevin didn't so much as move.

Eyebrows knitted together quizzically, Tom strode into the room and over to Kevin, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey. You all right?"

Kevin jumped at the contact, jolting upright, his shoulders flying back against the couch cushion, his breathing heavy and fast. "Oh my God," he gasped out, his blue eyes wide. "You—you startled me."

Tom, however, did not immediately respond, too busy registering the injuries on Kevin's face. His fair complexion was dotted with bruises, near his temple, on his jaw, and across his left eye.

"What the hell happened?" Tom demanded, wrath rising within him as he registered his son's battered state. The idea of anyone hurting any of his children stirred an instinctive anger within him, and his fists clenched automatically

"Whoa, whoa, Dad, relax," Kevin urged him, holding up his hands placatingly. "We were roughhousing around on Reggie's porch. You know how his house has those tall steps at the front? We were getting a bit too rowdy and ended up tumbled down those stairs and onto a patch of ice on the walkway. I took a couple of elbows to the face on the way down and landed at the bottom of the pile. That's all. It was just an accident."

"Hmm." While there was no obvious reason to doubt Kevin's story and Tom couldn't question its plausibility, he couldn't ignore a creeping sense of doubt. An aspect of the circumstances, one that he couldn't quite put his finger on, seemed wrong to him. But his chief concern at the moment was his son's well-being. "You didn't get hurt anywhere else, did you?" Placing his hands on either side of Kevin's face, he carefully turned his head from side to side, examining him for further injuries. To Tom's relief, he found none. The black eye wasn't even swollen, just bruised.

"Nah." Kevin gently batted him away, sending him a small smile before leaning forward and picking up an empty coffee mug from the table before him. "I'm okay, Dad. There's no need to be upset."

Despite the little illumination in the room, the angle of Kevin's hand placed his fingers and knuckles in the direct path of the TV's light. Tom could see no sign of bruises or scrapes whatsoever, and he found tension slowly uncoiling from his muscles. Kevin had always been at the top of whatever self-defense class Tom had signed him up for, and he currently held a brown belt in Krav Maga. If Kevin had been in a fight, he would have fought back, no question. The lack of injuries to his hands indicated that he had spoke the truth about friendly horseplay simply gone out of hand.

"All right. If you say so," Tom replied reluctantly. Inwardly, he was relieved. He knew that fighting was a regular occurrence among teenagers, but he hated to think of Kevin engaging in or receiving that type of violence. Like any parent, he wanted to believe that his kids were above brawling or any kind of similar activity.

"Well, I do," Kevin returned lightly. He pulled Tom into a one-armed hug. "I didn't mean to worry you, Dad. I never want to worry you."

Tom chuckled softly. "It's my job to worry about you." He returned the hug, though remained mindful Kevin might have other bruises on his torso.

For a moment, they simply stayed as they were, before Kevin pulled back, looking his father directly in the eyes.

"You know that I would never deliberately do anything to make you, or Mom, or anyone else ashamed of me, right?" Kevin questioned, his tone suddenly serious.

The threads of desperation in his son's voice didn't fail to catch Tom's attention. "Of course," he answered cautiously, wondering at the abrupt switch in conversation and unable to suppress the thought that it indicated a deeper issue.

Kevin's blue gaze scanned his face for a moment, as if searching for any hint of insincerity, but then he nodded once, apparently satisfied. "Thanks."

Tom wanted to ask what would bring Kevin to raise such a query, but before he could determine a tactful way to word it, Kevin was already rising from the couch.

"I'm going off to bed." He offered another smile, but even in the dim glow of the TV, Tom could tell it was strained. "Good night, Dad."

"Good night," Tom said, struggling to keep the unwillingness from his tone. He wanted to call Kevin back and demand an explanation for the unexpected question, but Kevin was a private kid. As much as Tom only wanted to reassure his son and have him cast aside any of his worries, he knew that Kevin would only interpret any further inquiries as an interrogation session.

And then there was always the possibility that Kevin only needed a moment of comfort, that he was trying to assuage a fleeting insecurity.

But the discrepancies of the night flashed through Tom's mind. The open door in the kitchen. The lack of response when he had arrived home and called out a greeting. Kevin's defeated posture when Tom had entered the room, and his apparent lack of notice that Tom was even there.

While Kevin's story about his injuries may have checked out, Tom couldn't push aside the lurking feeling of dread that his son was in some sort of trouble and was going to lengths to hide it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Day Six**

After nearly six months of slaving over the Blossom case, Tom's return to everyday life was something of an adjustment for the entire Keller family. No longer was Kevin the primary parental figure within the household with Tom checking in only occasionally. Now, Tom was taking back his role as father and tackling any home repairs or house projects that might accompany it. Of course, reclaiming his position meant resuming the somewhat hectic schedule of balancing family life with work. And while Tom was eager to step up to the challenge, he would be lying if he said some of his enthusiasm didn't stem from the guilt of sacrificing time with his children in favor of the Blossom case for the past half year.

The kids still helped out with chores, though. Hell, Kevin didn't seem to be happy unless he was completing some household task or another, to the point of arguing about it with Tom.

"You shouldn't have to worry about making dinner," Kevin protested one evening, upon arriving home after swim team practice to find Tom standing at the kitchen stove. "Let me take care of that, Dad. You should be able to relax when you come home from sheriffing, not be stuck doing more work."

"Kevin, it's fine," Tom told him patiently. "This is what I signed up for when I became a parent. I know you're used to taking more responsibility than most kids, but let me help out, for a change."

Now, he stood at the kitchen counter, slicing carrots and potatoes for the chicken stew that would serve as the main course of their dinner. Once finished, he added the ingredients to the broth warming on the stove, also stirring in half a bag of peas and a can of corn. He made sure to also add the same vegetables to a smaller pot that held a meat-free version of the stew for Kevin to eat, as he was a strict vegan. Even though he was going to be spending the majority of the evening at a swim meet, Tom wanted to make sure he had a warm supper waiting for him when he returned.

Placing lids on the two pots to let them simmer, Tom retrieved the tray of rolls from the the parlor, where Kevin had left them to rise before the fireplace after preparing the dough. After popping the tray in the oven and setting the timer, Tom then moved to the laundry room. It was probably time to change clothes from the washer to the dryer.

However, he found Kevin already doing so, wearing no other clothing but his swim team sweatpants. A blue T-shirt was slung over his shoulder as he used both hands to stuff wet laundry into the dryer, the washing machine already filling up with water for its new load.

In Kevin's state of undress, it was impossible to ignore the dark bruises littering his bare torso. The amount and extent of them, standing out starkly on his form like dark ink smudged against white paper, brought Tom to stop in his tracks and stare at his son in alarm.

Finishing his task, Kevin slammed the dryer door shut and twisted its dial, turning toward the door. Surprise and then dismay registered on his face as his eyes landed on his father; no doubt the sound of the flow of water into the washer had masked Tom's footsteps.

"Dad!" Panic settled on Kevin's features as he hurriedly started to pull on the T-shirt. "Sorry about this—I forgot you were home, and I needed to get my team shirt before the meet—"

"What in God's name _happened_ to you?" Tom surged forward, grabbing one of Kevin's wrists and pulling him forward to take a closer look at his injuries.

A sharp intake of breath from Kevin reminded him to be more gentle. Tom glanced down at the arm he was holding, realizing his son's wrist was bruised as well, and his fingers were coiled tight around the discolored skin. Loosening his grip, an apology started forming on the tip of his tongue, but his rising anger flooded forth to block the words.

"Who did this?" Tom demanded, his breathing becoming heavy. He knew his wrath was clearly showing on his face and undoubtedly wasn't the most comforting of reactions. But at the moment, he didn't care. His chief concern was hunting down whatever bastard who had hurt his kid and throwing him in a holding cell.

Kevin refused to met his eyes. "It's not important."

"Like hell it isn't!" Tom spat. "So help me, Kevin, you will tell me who did this to you, or—"

"Or what?" Kevin suddenly snapped, glancing up at him, defiance in his blue gaze. "What are you going to do to me if I don't tell you what you want to hear?"

The sudden aggression in his son's voice sent a flare of guilt through Tom. While he might be angry, his furious response was doing nothing to console Kevin or improve the situation at all. As much as he wanted to let his outrage be his guide, he first needed to focus on making sure Kevin was all right.

Exhaling deeply, Tom pushed aside his rage and the self-reproach that partially drove it—he should have noticed long before this point that Kevin was hurt. Good Lord, what kind of parent was he not to see that Kevin was in pain? But Kevin's well-being was his first priority right now, and he let that be known.

"I'm sorry," he said, forcing calm into his voice and letting go of Kevin's wrist. "I wasn't yelling at you. But I do need you to tell me who did this." He surveyed the damage to his son's body, his jaw clenched. "I will not have anyone treating you this way, not for an instant."

Kevin sighed and shook his head. "It doesn't matter." The words left his mouth exhausted and defeated.

Already steeling himself for another argument, the flat tone of his son's voice brought Tom to double-take. " _What_?" He expected Kevin to be defensive and resistant, not weary and demoralized. "Why wouldn't it matter?" His stomach dropped as a series of horrible what-if scenarios began running through his mind, and Tom silently prayed none of his suspicions were accurate. He assumed Kevin had simply been involved in a knock-down, drag-out fight and tried to hide it from him. But now, as Tom's heart twisted in worry, he realized there were dozens of far worse ways Kevin could have gained those bruises.

"Well." Kevin took a deep breath. His anger seemed to vanish as quickly as it had surfaced, but like Tom, he was clearly making an effort to keep himself under control. "Some things just—they can't be be fixed, can they? After all," his voice caught "sometimes things happen in life that are simply irreversible."

Tom absorbed his son's words with a growing sense of dread as he scanned his form, trying to glean some sort of clue to his thoughts from his demeanor. Another stab of guilt jolted through him as he spotted the dark circles shadowing Kevin's eyes, noticeable even with the bruises on his features, and the drawn, waxy appearance of his face.

"Kevin," he said quietly. "I really think we need to sit down and talk. If someone hurt you—if someone's been hurting you—"

"You don't need to worry about that," Kevin told him tiredly.

Usually Tom resisted cursing in front of his children, not wanting to set a bad example. Now, despite his distinct effort to curb his anger, his frustration boiled over anyway. "That is _bullshit_! I am your father. Of course I'm going to be worried when you've clearly been beat to hell! I am one step away from taking you to the emergency room to make sure—"

"I was already checked out by a hospital," Kevin admitted. "Dad, I'm fine. Just give it a few weeks for the bruises to heal."

"And in the meantime, the person responsible walks away." Tom shook his head grimly. "Kevin, I won't accept that. You need to tell me everything that happened. I don't care if it was your fault, or someone else's fault, or an act of God, but I want answers."

Kevin looked away, folding his arms over his chest as if trying to protect himself. "I need to leave. I have to pick Betty up for the meet, and I don't want us to be late for warm-ups." He started forth, attempting to weave around his father.

"Kevin—" Tom attempted to lay a hand on his shoulder, but Kevin flinched away violently at the motion, stumbling back against the washing machine. Though Tom moved forward to help him, the sheer alarm on Kevin's features at his approach halted him in an instant, his breath catching in his lungs. Never before had any one of his children looked so afraid at the sight of him.

But without missing a beat, Kevin righted himself, not meeting Tom's eyes, and fled the room. "I'll see you later." He left in an instant, his footsteps echoing briefly in the hallway before the door to the garage swung open and then firmly closed.

The swift exit left Tom struggling with himself. He was tempted to race after Kevin and call him back, but he also knew Kevin would only be upset by the delay to his swim meet and continue to refuse to give any answers.

And a part of him was still reeling from seeing the expression of fear on his son's face. He couldn't ease the shame coursing through him for inciting that emotion within his son, even as he was all too aware that the reason for Kevin's reaction was likely something far out of his control. And how could he have been unaware of the extent of his injuries? Here he was, sheriff of the town, and he wasn't even capable of convincing his own son to confide in him, let alone capable of protecting him.

Tom's counseling skills were plenty under-practiced, too, it seemed. What he should have done, he mused in regret, dragging a hand down his face, was take Kevin into his arms, comfort him and reassure him. Not instantly scare him off by thundering demands and orders.

Maybe if he had come home from the office early once in a while during these past several months, Kevin would be willing to tell him the full story. Maybe Kevin wouldn't have those bruises at all if Tom had been around more.

With a sigh, Tom trudged back to the kitchen, biting back a curse as he glanced at the door to the garage. His kid was out there, tried and hurt, and Tom hadn't managed to help him at all.

That would change, though, Tom resolved, his energy renewing as he was filled with the need to protect his son. When Kevin returned later that night, the two of them would have a long talk, and Tom would get to the bottom of this matter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Day Six**

If Tom were to be accused of spoiling his kids, he would outright admit it. He knew his work prevented him from being around like other parents were. With both him and Kathy absent, the kids were left to attend sports practices and games on their own, depending on carpools to get where they needed to be. It had been a relief to give Kevin the Bronco, a retired county vehicle, and know that at least one of his children always had a ride and could often shuttle around his sisters.

Yes, he allowed Denise and Patty to stay up later than they should on school nights. True, he let Kevin get away with breaking curfew. And sure, if they didn't like he prepared for dinner (on the few occasions Kevin gave him the chance), they were free to rifle through the refrigerator and find something else to eat (Kevin was often stuck doing so regardless, as Tom frequently forgot his veganism).

But in his opinion, the kids deserved a little bit of spoiling every now and again. They worked hard, he reasoned, so they should be able to play hard.

If Tom's kids were accused of being spoiled, however, he would flatly and firmly deny it. Spoiled children didn't put in as much effort as his kids. Spoiled children didn't complete their numerous chores (that Tom readily admitted could be excessive) on a regular basis without being asked and without complaining. Spoiled children didn't sign up for as many extracurriculars as his kids, as well as readily accept they neither of their parents be there to either help out or witness their accomplishments.

Yes, Tom gave his kids a large amount of freedom, but he also knew he could trust them to not only do well with that freedom, but do good with it.

Was he biased? Absolutely. But was he right? Tom was sure of it.

He would also readily admit, though, that he had somewhat of a blind spot where Kevin was concerned.

It would be a lie to say some of his permissiveness as a parent didn't stem from guilt for being a largely truant parent for a good portion of the kids' childhoods. True, the circumstances were beyond his control, but that didn't mean he didn't feel awful for it. He hadn't been around to see any of his children learn to walk or speak their first word. He hadn't been able to teach any of them to ride bikes or climbs trees. But Kevin, as the oldest, was the child whose life Tom had missed the most of, with no choice but to be a continual no-show for school plays, sports games, and even birthdays. Due to the timing of Kathy's pregnancy and Tom's deployment, Kevin had already been two years old before Tom even laid eyes on him. And yet, because he was the oldest child, he had always been the child Tom and Kathy expected the most from.

With Tom's army career, he was constantly moving the family around the country and sometimes the world. It had been part of Kevin's responsibilities to take care of his sisters, to entertain them during the long plane rides or drives from one military base to another, to help them with homework and catch up with lessons as they continually started new schools. Even now, Tom had a habit of assuming that whenever he would get wrapped up in work, Kevin would be there with little to no prompting and play the role of dad to Denise and Patty. And Kevin did, without fail.

So while Kevin was just sixteen years old, Tom was accustomed to treating him as an adult. Hell, he thought Kevin deserved to be treated as an adult, given how much he and Kathy depended on him to act like one. But Tom also knew that not matter what, Kevin wasn't an actual adult, nor did he have the maturity or judgement of one.

* * *

Tom was finishing the dishes when he heard Kevin's Bronco pull into the garage. Seconds later, the low rumble of the garage door's descent carried through the quiet house, and then the connecting door to the house opened and shut. With slow, weary footsteps, Kevin entered the from the hall into the kitchen.

"Welcome back," Tom said neutrally as he wiped his hands on a dishtowel and moved to the stove. Without wasting any time, he ladled a hefty portion of the vegan stew into a bowl and brought it to the table, setting it down at Kevin's usual place. "The soup is warm enough that it won't cool off too much if you want to run upstairs and put on some dry clothes."

Kevin shook his head, walking over to the table, shrugging off his backpack, and dropping it to the floor beside his chair. "Don't worry about it. I already changed after I finished my races."

"All right," Tom said, carefully keeping his tone even. "Have some dinner, then." He pushed the basket of rolls in Kevin's direction, and then resumed his place at the table where he was writing checks for the bills.

Normally, he completed this type of paperwork in the home office he shared with Kathy—easier to stay organized that way. But tonight, he needed to have an important discussion with Kevin. At the moment, though, he was willing to put that particular talk on hold for just a few more minutes. He could afford to give his son time to refresh himself by eating a hearty meal.

Yet Tom couldn't help but notice that Kevin seemed entirely uninterested in eating. While such behavior wasn't entirely unusual, as he mainly seemed to fuel himself on celery sticks with hummus, usually a swim meet stirred his appetite. But tonight, Kevin simply poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher and made no move to touch his food.

Though tempted to open his mouth and order his son to eat, Tom bit his tongue. Kevin wasn't a six-year-old; he could make his own decisions about nutrition.

During a long stretch of prevailing silence, Tom felt Kevin's eyes on him several times, flickering back and forth between him and the table. However, he ignored it for the time, pretending that his full attention was on his paperwork. Still, as the minutes ticked by and Kevin hadn't so much as picked up his spoon, Tom addressed the issue directly.

"You need to eat," he said, his tone booking no argument. "You've had a long day."

Kevin sighed and looked at him wearily. "Let's just talk about whatever it is you want to talk about, okay? I just—" He gave a shaky exhale that didn't escape Tom's notice or worry. "I'm just tired," he finished resignedly.

Frowning in unease, Tom studied Kevin, debating if it would be worth it or not to insist he eat dinner. But Kevin looked plainly exhausted, with stress clear on his face and tension evident in his shoulders. Yes, he needed nourishment, but he obviously also needed to rest, and Tom would guess that he was too tired to be particularly hungry.

"Okay," Tom said carefully. "This probably won't surprise you, but I want to know how you got those bruises."

Kevin's fingers slid to the edge of the table, gripping the wooden surface tightly. "I really wish you would just forget about it."

"Yes, well, I wish you hadn't been hurt in the first place, but people in hell want ice water, don't they?" In his worry, Tom's temper got the better of him. A glance at Kevin's face showed his eyes already shuttering, and again, Tom found himself apologizing. "Hey, Sport, I'm really sorry. But listen, if someone's hurting you, I need to know about it. I don't care if it's someone you're dating, or if it's just a bully at school, or if it's someone who you owe money to. You just got to tell me." Please, please don't let it be drugs, he inwardly begged.

Kevin did not reply, but his grip on the table tightened.

Taking a deep breath, Tom steeled himself to continue. His heart was pounding and all sorts of horrible suspicions were running through his mind, but it was essential for him to remain calm. He needed to show Kevin that he had a support system. "If you were attacked or mugged, by a stranger or someone you know, we need to make a report. I'll help you—"

He broke off then, perturbed by the expression on his son's face. Kevin had turned to face him with a look that was a mixture of such intense despair and bitterness that Tom barely recognized him.

"I need you to stop talking about this," Kevin said, his voice pleading, but deathly quiet. "I understand you're upset. You have every right to be. But please, please let this go."

The sheer desperation in Kevin's voice brought Tom pause, and once more he scanned Kevin's face, searching for answers. Again he saw nothing but blisteringly obvious distress, and frustration stabbed through him. This line of questioning was accomplishing nothing beyond upsetting Kevin more and more, but Tom needed to know what happened. He needed to make sure his son was safe.

"Kevin," Tom said gently, trying to keep the urgency from his voice, even as he was growing more alarmed by the second, "tell me what I can do to help you."

"Forget about all of this." Kevin spoke without hesitation. "Just trust me when I say this won't happen again."

Tom shook his head, his brows knitting together in concern. "You know I can't do that. Kevin, you realize I'm not doing this to annoy you, right? I care about you. I want to make sure you're not in danger."

"Then. Just. Let. It. Go," Kevin gritted out. But even though clenched teeth muffled the words, there was no disguising the begging in his voice. At the edge of the table, his knuckles had turned white, and his eyes were starting to look suspiciously bright.

Letting out a long exhale, Tom knew he had no choice but to concede defeat. Not only had Kevin not given an inch, but it was apparent that Tom's persistence was causing Kevin far more harm than good.

"Okay," he said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "I'll let you off this once. But just this once, you understand?" He held up a finger warningly. "If I ever hear or see so much of a hint of—" he sighed, giving a general gesture in Kevin's direction when he found himself incapable of describing the situation, "— whatever all of this is, then you'll be grounded until you tell me exactly what happened. As it is, you're grounded for the next two weeks."

"Just so long as you understand that I have a lot of club meetings I've got to go," Kevin said, relief obvious on his face. "I can move a few here, if you're okay with it, but I won't be able to rearrange all of them."

"That's fine," Tom replied, slightly heartened at his son's gratitude. "You know I never mind if you bring your friends here."

"Thanks." Kevin quickly rose and stepped away from the table, pushing in his chair and walking away. "I'm just going to head up to bed—"

"Hey, wait just a minute." Momentarily forgetting himself, Tom grabbed onto Kevin's bicep, but quickly let go at his pained gasp. "Sorry, Sport, I didn't—"

"Don't worry about it," Kevin said flatly, his tone was dull and weary again. "I'm the one who should be apologizing."

"I don't—" Tom was about to say understand , but Kevin cut him off, his voice miserable.

"You deserve better than this." His voice grew taut. "Better than some stubborn and defiant delinquent who comes home with suspicious injuries and sulkily refuses to tell you a thing about it. That's not me. I wish I wasn't—I wish you had—"

"Enough of that." Careful not to aggravate Kevin's bruises, Tom pulled his son into a warm hug. "Yeah, I'm less than thrilled about you coming home looking you got hit by a bus, but I will not have you beating yourself up for it."

He could smell the chlorine from the pool in Kevin's hair, and he couldn't help but think back to the first time he had held his son, the first time he had met him. Kathy had hurried over with a beaming smile, throwing one of her arms around him in a hug and balancing the toddler on her hip with the other. After a fierce embrace, she had stepped back and handed Kevin to him. Tom had then cuddled his son close, marveling at the child he had never laid eyes on before, realizing, as he inhaled the scent of Kevin's baby shampoo, that his kid was a blue-eyed blond just like him.

Now, Kevin was a teenager, doing teenage things like keeping secrets and refusing to tell his parents where he had been and what he had been doing. It was almost unbelievable to consider how quickly he had changed, growing from a child to a young man in what seemed like a blink of an eye.

Though still wary of putting pressure on his injuries, Tom pulled Kevin even closer. "No matter what happened, you're still my son," he said firmly. "No matter how you got those bruises. No matter who gave them to you. I really, really would like you to tell me how got them. But I understand I can't force you. So just understand that whenever you want to tell me the whole story, I'll be here to listen."

"Okay," Kevin replied, subdued, withdrawing from Tom's embrace. "I'm going to go upstairs."

"Good night. Go straight to bed," Tom told him, biting back a sigh as his son walked away from him and toward the stairs.

He had always trusted Kevin. Always thought that he was capable of looking out for Denise and Patty, as well as himself. Never had he pictured him as the type to get in over his head with well, anything , except perhaps community service projects.

But now Tom was left wondering if he was mistaken to give Kevin that trust, if it had been more of a burden than a privilege. After all, he did expect a lot from him—maybe now it was just too much.

This was his least favorite part about being a parent, Tom mused as he locked up the house for the night. The doubt, the questioning, the constant nagging in his mind about if he was doing the right thing. It wasn't so much as that he didn't like being unsure of himself as much as that he hated being unsure of his kids.

Still, as Tom twisted the deadbolt on the front door into place, he couldn't help a strong suspicion that not all of his son's problems were so simple that Tom could fix them for him, nor would a simple locked door be capable of keeping them away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Day Fourteen**

The call came in just about when Tom was ready to call it a night—a crash down at the intersection of Sweetwater Road and Windsor Lane; EMS was already en route. Since his patrol placed him only a few miles away from the site, Tom flipped on his siren and sped over as quickly as the caution would allow him in the icy conditions.

His stomach started churning with a familiar dread the moment he laid eyes on the scene—the road was on a hill, and at the bottom of it, about fifteen feet away from the edge of the asphalt, a BMW rested in front of a massive oak tree. Its front end was crumpled and smoke billowed out from beneath the hood. The car had seemingly skidded off of the downward slope of the road and into the thick tree trunk.

Parking his car on the side with the other emergency vehicles, Tom jumped out and approached the destroyed car. The paramedics were already there, but before he could ask them about the occupants, he was intercepted by Gloria Lopez, his chief deputy.

"Gloria," he greeted her, as he surveyed the scene around them. "What's the situation here?"

"Hey, Tom," she said with a sigh. "From the looks of it, the BMW was going down the hill, accelerating as you'd expect, and then hit the patch of black ice at the bottom, which sent it skidding into the tree." She nodded in the direction of the road. "I've taken the liberty of putting up barricades at the top and calling for some rock salt to be spread at the bottom to prevent any further accidents."

"And the driver?" Tom asked, even as the paramedics began to extract a figure from the driver's seat to load into a body bag.

"Died on impact," Gloria reported grimly. "He wasn't wearing a seatbelt. Once he lost control of the car, he was doomed."

"Jesus," Tom said lowly, more from discouragement from actual surprise. The situation was typical in the winter months, but tragedy was always difficult to acclimate to, even as frequent as it was in his line of work. "We got a name?"

"Car is registered to a Brian Perkins, and the ID on the driver says his name is David Perkins," Gloria told him.

Tom blinked, turning to look at her directly. "Not David Perkins, star quarterback at Riverdale High?"

"The age on his license is right for it, but it's hard to say from the state of him." Gloria let out a heavy exhale. "His head went through the windshield."

Back at the car, the paramedics had placed the body in the bag and were now wheeling it away on a stretcher. The car door was left ajar, and in the dim light, Tom thought he could see a dark splatter on the windshield's remnants.

With a heaviness settling over his shoulders, he extended a hand for the registration papers. "If you can handle the cleanup here, I'll go and notify Mr. and Mrs. Perkins." Already, he was dreading the task; losing a child was every parent's worst nightmare. But he had no choice—not only did it need to be done, but the Perkins family would need someone to be strong for them right now.

"You sure want that job? I could switch with you," Gloria offered, handing him the paperwork.

Tom shook his head. "I wouldn't ask you to do that, Glo. It's part of my responsibility as sheriff, and it wouldn't be right to pass this task on to anyone else." He started back to his car. "Radio me if you need anything, and take care."

* * *

Given that Kevin was grounded, he shouldn't have been able to avoid Tom as thoroughly and effectively as he was currently doing. But his son did everything to its fullest extent, and Tom supposed that included evading authority figures. Between his own ever-lengthening shifts and Kevin's habit of jam-packing his free time with extracurriculars, sometimes the two of them could go weeks with barely seeing each other simply because of their different schedules.

At the moment, though, Tom was almost completely certain Kevin was simply using his own activities as an excuse to prevent conversation with him. The two of them had barely spoken since just over a week previously, when Tom had become aware of Kevin's accumulation bruises. But, Tom resolved as he walked into the house through the garage entrance, he would find a way to break the ongoing tension between them and bridge the gap that was developing between himself and his son. For now, though, perhaps Kevin just needed a little bit of time.

He was surprised when he entered the kitchen and found Kevin there, scrubbing pots and pans in the sink.

"Still awake, sport?" He asked as he retrieved a glass from the cabinet and crossed over to the fridge to fill it at the dispenser. Though he tried, he wasn't able to totally disguise the surprise and worry in his voice. "It's almost midnight."

"I wanted to wait up for you. Make sure that you got home all right." Kevin did not turn to look at Tom as he spoke, instead standing still beyond planting his hands on the counter to grip its edge.

"Well, thanks," Tom said, in as pleasant a tone as he could manage in his current state of exhaustion. The long day, as well as the accident and meeting with David Perkins's parents, had left him physically and emotionally drained.

And on the subject of David Perkins, it was up to Tom to figure out what to tell Kevin. He eyed his son speculatively as he sipped his water. He didn't want to startle him right before he went to bed. Lord knew Kevin needed all the rest he could get. But he also knew that if he didn't tell Kevin about his classmate's death, he would likely find out shortly from some form of social media.

Finishing his glass, Tom decided he simply needed to tell Kevin right away.

"Hey, Kev," he said, setting the empty glass on the counter. "Let's sit down at the table for a moment and talk, okay?"

Kevin turned to glance at him for the first time, sending a wary look his way. Tom was uncomfortably reminded of the encounter between himself and Kevin in the laundry room and the raw fear that had flashed across Kevin's face.

"Sure," he said evenly, grabbing a nearby dishtowel and wiping off his hands.

Tom sat himself at the head of the table, and Kevin sat on his left; both were their usual mealtime places. As Kevin joined him, Tom couldn't help but notice the caution in his movements, like an animal trying to avoid being caught in a hunter's trap. A stab of frustration and concern pierced through Tom at the sight; he hated the idea of any of his children having to resort to walking on eggshells around him.

Tom looked Kevin directly as he spoke, determined to offer his son the best comfort he was able. "There's no easy way to say this, Kevin, so forgive me for being blunt. One of your classmates, David Perkins, was killed in a car accident earlier tonight. I was called to the scene. And I was the one who notified his parents. I wanted to tell you now so you wouldn't have to find out from someone else."

For a moment, Kevin's expression was uncomprehending, but then his blue eyes widened as he registered the news. A look of disbelief settled over his features. "David?"

"Yes, son." Tom reached out and gripped Kevin's shoulder. "I know you knew him. You've mentioned him a couple of times. Were you two close?"

"What?" For an instant, Kevin seemed stricken by Tom's question, but that look was quickly wiped away and replaced by an unreadable expression. "No. We knew each other in passing, that's all."

"Well, still. If there's anything you need, you come to me, all right?" Tom said, keeping his tone gentle but firm.

Kevin nodded, though his blue eyes seemed glazed. "Sure." A moment passed, and, to Tom's concern, he seemed to shake himself out of some sort of stupor. "How are you doing? It can't have been easy to come across the scene when it was still fresh."

Tom paused before responding, still studying Kevin, trying to place his state of mind. "It was difficult," he said at last. "But police have training to deal with those types of situations and the emotions they bring up."

He didn't add that he had to go to a family's home and inform them that their only child was dead. He didn't mention that it was his absolute worst nightmare to arrive on a scene on to find that the victim was one of his own children. It wouldn't have been appropriate to discuss either of those topics with a teenager, and besides, Tom didn't like to have those images in his own head, let alone put them into his son's.

"Right." Kevin absorbed his response without any waver in his stoic expression. "And Dad? Are you absolutely sure the victim was David Perkins?"

The question brought Tom to stare at his son, wondering why the question had originated. "We're fairly certain. The car was registered to David's father, and his parents confirmed that it was the car he was driving. David's phone, ID, and other possessions were found at the scene."

One of those possessions had been David's letterman jacket, monogrammed with his first and last name. Because of the nature of the accident, visual identification of the body by family was not an option, but Tom had shown the jacket, sealed in an evidence bag, to David's parents. His father's pained cry, dissolving into shuddering sobs, and his mother's blank stare had confirmed the jacket did indeed belong to David. Tomorrow, a dental record check would prove the victim's identity beyond a doubt.

Kevin let out a long breath. "It would be awful to begin grieving for the loss of someone only to discover the loss is actually someone else."

"It would," Tom agreed, still studying his son. While Kevin's demeanor was certainly subdued, he couldn't help but notice that Kevin also seemed less tense than he had been over the past week. Given the situation, Tom thought the reaction was odd, but perhaps Kevin was simply relieved that the two of them were speaking at length without arguing.

The thought sent a spur of guilt through him, and he leaned forward intently.

"I'm here for you, Kev," he said resolutely. "Whatever you need, if you want to talk or cry or just—I don't know, arm-wrestle—whatever it is, you can come to me."

"Thanks, Dad." Kevin rose from his seat, giving him a quick, small smile. "I'm going to head up to bed now. Do you mind if I leave those dishes to soak?"

"Of course not," Tom said without hesitation. "You need to get more rest anyway."

"Noted. See you in the morning, Dad." Kevin gave him a brief hug, so fleeting it was almost as if he were afraid of being burned, before proceeding to the parlor to reach the staircase.

"Good night," Tom called after him.

As Kevin's footsteps retreated, Tom hauled himself to his feet, grabbed the water glass from the counter, and carried it to the dishwasher. The racks were already empty; no doubt Kevin had already run the wash cycle for the dinner dishes and then put them away.

A sense of deja vu overwhelmed Tom, and for whatever reason, he found a memory from a few Saturdays ago drifting into his mind, of returning home and finding the dishwasher recently used. But he shrugged off any musings on the matter. His mind was already full of thoughts and visuals from the past night's events, of the state of the BMW after the crash, the expressions on the Perkins' face when he turned up at their door, and the look in their eyes when he showed them the jacket. He didn't need to be bothered by anything else for the moment.

Rubbing his forehead, Tom moved to the light switch and flicked off the lights in the kitchen. He would do one last check to make sure the house was secure, and then go to bed. He had more than earned his rest tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

**Day Twenty-One**

On his way home after work on Friday night, Tom turned a corner and the headlights of his patrol car illuminated a figure bent over the open hood of a sedan. Pulling up nearby to offer assistance, Tom realized it was Betty Cooper. She had been out for a date with her boyfriend, Jughead Jones, when they'd encountered engine trouble. But using the jumper cables Betty kept on hand, she and Tom were quickly able to jump start the car.

"Thank you so much," Betty said gratefully. "This battery has been giving me all sorts of trouble lately. Second time I've had to jump it in as many days. And to think I call myself a mechanic!"

"You're a great mechanic," Tom told her affectionately. "You might want to take in that battery and get it checked out, though."

Betty laughed. "Trust me, at this point, it's first on my to-do list for the weekend. Well, right after River Vixens practice," she amended. "Cheryl is making us start training at seven o'clock sharp tomorrow."

"Speaking of cheerleading," Tom said as he slammed the hood of his patrol car shut, "how did your bake sale go?"

Betty blinked. "Bake sale?"

Tom frowned. "Yeah. It was a few weeks back, but Kevin mentioned he was helping you out."

"The River Vixens never have bake sales," Betty informed him. She grimaced. "Cheryl says that the only people who hold them are community college dropout trailer trash housewives who are making a desperate attempt to score cash to fuel their burgeoning meth addictions."

"Kevin is involved in an awful lot of clubs," Jughead reasoned. "You sure you got the right one?"

"And he helps out even more besides," Betty chimed in. "Maybe you just mixed up the River Vixens with some other group?"

"That must be it," Tom agreed genially, but inwardly, he was certain about what he knew, and he couldn't help but be hit hard by the discovery Kevin had lied to him. The bake sale, as well as where he was and who he was with, was a total fabrication. Maybe Tom would have been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt another time, but after Kevin had come home bruised and beaten with no explanation about what happened, Tom couldn't risk not addressing the issue.

"Would you say hello to Kevin for us?" Betty asked as they returned to their car. "I know he's busy, but I really wish he could make some time for us. All of the gang really would have liked to see him tonight."

"Yeah, tell him we miss him, won't you?" Jughead added. "It's been forever since he was able to hang out, even at school."

"Will do," Tom acquiesced, even as the discrepancy in Betty's words registered with him. As far as he knew, Kevin wasn't doing anything with any of his clubs tonight, and given that he was still grounded, he had nothing on his schedule besides swim team practice. So, Kevin must not have told his friends about the sudden lockdown on his social life. Puzzled, Tom wondered about Kevin's decision all the way throughout his drive home. Why had Kevin chosen to keep it a secret? He would have thought that any teenager would relish in the opportunity to vent to their friends about their parents' tyrannical rules.

But then, heaving a sigh as his thoughts turned to his son's recent dishonesty, Tom realized that he didn't know half of the reasons for Kevin's behavior as of late. The lies, the secrets, the bruises . . .

 _The bruises._

With a jolt, Tom recalled that Kevin had already been injured on the evening of the day when he was allegedly helping Betty and Veronica. At the time, he'd claimed that it was simple roughhousing with his friends that had gotten out of hand, and Tom had believed him. And why not? Kevin was a responsible kid, and Tom trusted him.

But now, it occurred to Tom just how naïve he had been naïve to accept Kevin's explanation and foolish not to make the connection. In all likelihood, Kevin had received all of those bruises, the ones Tom had seen that night and the ones Tom had seen a few days later in one single event. He'd probably gained them during the time he was supposedly with the girls.

Tom's jaw clenched as he pulled his car into the garage. He might not have an explanation at the moment, but he would pry one out of Kevin, even if it took every last ounce of his patience.

But finding Kevin in order to have such a conversation proved to be no easy task. Though his truck at the house, he himself did not appear to be, his room empty and no sign of him in the basement. And with both Patty and Denise at friends' houses for sleepovers, neither of them would be capable of giving any hint as to Kevin's whereabouts.

Normally, Tom wouldn't have been very perturbed, as Kevin was very reliable and able to manage his own comings and goings. But with his erratic actions and choices over the past couple of weeks, Tom found himself growing almost frantic with worry.

It wasn't until Tom halted his search to take a moment to sit down at the breakfast nook and calm himself that he realized where Kevin was. As he sipped a glass of water, rationalizing to himself and steadying his nerves, he found himself looking through the atrium out at the backyard. That was when he spotted his son.

The far right corner of the backyard was more of a garden than a lawn, surrounded by dense pine trees that lent plenty of privacy. Some time ago, Tom and Kathy had decided to put the shade to good use and converted the area to be a garden extension of the patio. They not only changed the landscape to include numerous flower beds and stepping stones, but trellises for rosebushes and arbors for vines. They had also installed a raised, open gazebo decorated with patio lights and, in the spring and summer, hanging flower baskets. Nearby the gazebo was an adirondack-style wooden patio swing.

In the night's darkness, with the moon and stars blanketed by clouds, Tom could just barely discern Kevin's long, lean the form sitting on the swing. Almost the only indication was his golden hair gleaming silver in the dapples of barest illumination that filtered from the overcast sky down through the tree limbs. He was turned sideways, his back to Tom, his knees bent with feet up on the seat, arms wrapped loosely around his legs, and his head down. He also didn't seem to be wearing any kind of coat.

All of Tom's righteous anger drained from him when his eyes Kevin, and he found the direction of his thoughts changing. Kevin was a good kid, and while he liked his freedom, he usually was forthcoming with the ongoing events in his life. All of his behavior surrounding the day in question was immensely out of character for him.

Tom sighed as he grabbed both of their jackets, went outside, and began to walk over to Kevin. It was entirely reasonable that Kevin had a good reason for lying—or at least, he thought he did.

Kevin started at Tom's approach, but in the dim light, Tom couldn't quite read his expression. However, he still maneuvered to give his father room to sit beside him, lifting his feet and shifting them down to the ground. He didn't say anything and kept his gaze straight ahead.

"I brought you a coat," Tom said neutrally, handing the garment to Kevin. "Put on it, won't you, sport? It's damn cold out here."

Kevin wordlessly obeyed.

Joining Kevin on the swing, Tom let the silence persist for several minutes, wordlessly looking out into the night's darkness just as his son was. All the while, though, Tom knew a discussion needed to be had.

"I ran into Betty and Jughead on my way home," he finally offered as a lead-in to the main topic of conversation.

A beat passed before Kevin responded. "How are they?" He did not sound particularly interested or enthusiastic, and if Tom could discern his expression, he knew it would be extremely apathetic.

"Fine," Tom said, struggling to keep his tone lighthearted as he prepared for the new direction of their talk. "They seem happy together."

"How nice for them," Kevin replied dully.

Tom took a deep breath. "It's funny, though. I asked Betty how the cheerleading bake sale went, the one you helped her and Veronica with. She had no idea what I was talking about. She thought I must have confused it with a bake sale for another one of your clubs."

Kevin did not respond, only leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and place his head in his hands.

"Kevin," Tom said quietly, "just tell me what happened. Tell me why you lied, and tell me where you got those bruises."

Shaking his head, Kevin let out a trembling exhale. "It's a sordid story."

Tom reached out a hand and squeezed Kevin's shoulder. "Hey. I'm your father. I'm here to help you with whatever you're going through. I'm not going to turn my back on you just because I don't like what you have to say."

There was another extended silence from Kevin, and just as Tom opened his mouth, another plea for his son to talk to him on his lips, Kevin began to speak.

"That night I stayed over at Reggie's house, all of us guys went out to a house party. There was some drinking going on there, and I ran into David."

"David Perkins?" Tom asked, though he strongly suspected he already knew the answer. Kevin's odd line of questioning on the night of the fatal car accident rushed back into his mind.

"Yeah," Kevin confirmed. "I knew him from school. We had been friendly until he lost the sophomore class election to me. Since then, he'd kept his distance. But when he came up to me at the party and offered me a beer, I took it from him. I thought he was just trying to be nice, that he wanted us to be cool with each other again."

The story was all too similar to various others Tom had heard during his time in law enforcement, and his stomach knotted in dread as his heart began pounding. He had a horrible feeling about what Kevin would tell him.

"We sat and talked for a while," Kevin went on, his voice practically toneless. "But by the time I finished the beer, I started feeling really sick. David saw that I was looking pretty bad, and he helped me upstairs. He told me I could lie down in a bedroom, sleep off some of the dizziness."

Tom knew exactly where Kevin was going; he could predict exactly what Kevin was going to say next, and the knowledge and the certainty both ate away at him. He wanted to say something, anything, to comfort Kevin, but his mouth was dry, and his tongue wouldn't move. He felt as though he had lost the ability to form words.

He had heard victims relay these incidents to him; he knew how these types of violations began and ended. And it had always been one of his worst fears to have to listen to one of his children tell him the same story.

For the first time, emotion leaked into Kevin's voice: anger. Shame. Despair. "I don't remember much. Just that sex with him was violent. He threw me onto the bed, and when I tried to push him off, he just kept hitting me. My memory of that night at that point is pretty scattered, and that's almost the only thing that ever comes back to me: him hitting me, over and over, until I stopped fighting back." Kevin laughed humorlessly. "Not that I was doing all that well in the first place. I could barely lift my arms to shove him away. It was like moving through cement."

"You did fine." The words ripped from his mouth louder and sharper than Tom ever intended, and he realized his grip on Kevin's shoulder was painfully tight. Loosening his hold but keeping his hand in its place, he purposefully forced his tone to be gentler. "You were fine, Kevin. You did fine."

Kevin turned to look at him, and for a moment, Tom thought he was going to respond, but instead he just turned back away and continued. "The next thing I remember is going outside. There was this cluster of trees off to the side of the front yard, and with all the shadows, it was really dark." There was a long pause, and Tom could hear the pain in Kevin's voice. "I saw it and realized that I—that I could hide."

Opening his mouth to reassure Kevin, Tom found his police instincts in a battle with his parental urges. He wanted to comfort his son and reassure him, but he knew with each interruption, Kevin would become more and more reluctant to start again. It was important to let victims continue to be heard once they began speak. And it wasn't just that he himself needed to hear what had happened—Kevin needed to talk.

So Tom just settled for putting an arm around Kevin's shoulders, desperately hoping it would be enough for the moment.

"I waited by those trees until I saw the other guys leaving, and then I walked up to them like everything was normal. Moose was the only one of us who wasn't liquored up, so he drove us home. Once we were there, I couldn't sleep." Kevin gave a shrug of his shoulders. "I showered right away, and I tried to drink a lot of water, hoping to flush out whatever drugs were in my system, but I kept getting sick."

 _Why didn't you call me?_ Tom wanted to ask. _Why didn't you let me help you?_ But he would never voice either of those questions aloud, not at this time. He didn't want Kevin to feel any more guilty than he already did. Kevin had been without any type of support for these past weeks, and Tom couldn't shut him down now and put him in a worse place.

"The other guys just thought I'd had too much to drink, and I let them think that while I tried to keep it together. But the next morning, Reggie could tell something was wrong. I couldn't bring myself to tell him, but I asked him to drive me over to a clinic in Greendale so I could get checked out. He asked all sorts of questions, but I couldn't tell him anything. I—I just—" Kevin faltered, and he needed several moments to steady his voice. "I just didn't want anyone to know. Yet even with that, he still waited for me in the car while I went to get examined. He's a good friend."

"Yes," Tom agreed automatically as he struggled to process all that Kevin had told him, vague nausea washing over him at the impact of his words. He could barely contain his rising anger. Three days earlier, he'd been grieving the loss of one of the town's promising young athletes, and now he found out that same person was his son's rapist. To think Tom had gone to his house and held his hat in his hands as he apologized to David Perkins's parents for their loss. Meanwhile, his own son had been tormented by the memories of what Perkins had done to him. For God's sake, Tom remembered, his hands curling into fists and bile rising in his throat, he had seen the bruises Perkins had left on Kevin's body.

"So." Tom struggled to focus; he wanted to ensure that he had all the information before giving into emotion. "You called me before going to clinic, right? That's when you told me you were helping Betty and Veronica?"

"Yeah," Kevin rasped. "When I found out you were going to be out most of the day, I realized I could get home and actually bake some food just to have actual concrete evidence to complete my story. But I knew I would have to be really careful about the clean-up afterward, so I was careful to wash every single dish I used and put them all away. I also opened the back door and turned on the fan to get rid of any type of scent that accompanied the baking."

"That's why the dishwasher had been run recently and the door was ajar," Tom realized. "I'd been wondering." All this time, he had felt foolish for worrying about such trivial details, but it turned out to be an element of Kevin's cover story, one that he'd carefully crafted to keep his father from ever discovering what had happened. If only, Tom thought with a rush of guilt, he'd figured out the true series of events at the time. He could have spared Kevin so much loneliness, so much suffering in isolation. "Were all of those bruises that I saw from David?"

"Every last one," Kevin said bitterly. "And I guess one night wasn't enough for him, because he started . . . harassing me, I guess, at school afterward. I could avoid him sometimes, but not all the time. That night of the swim meet, the night you and I argued, he was waiting for me by my car after the meet finished. He wanted to know what was wrong with me, why I was angry with him. And then, um, he—he—" Kevin choked on the words. "He asked me to the spring formal."

"What?" Tom gaped at Kevin, open-mouthed. "After everything he did to you, he asked you to a dance?"

Kevin gave a laugh that was thick with tears. "Crazy, right? I decked him in the jaw when I finally processed what he was saying. But . . . I don't think he understood anything about what he did to me. I just don't think he thought what he did was wrong." He paused to try to steady his breathing, but to no avail. "When you came home the other night and told me that he was dead, God help me, I was relieved. I was so tired of seeing him at school, of looking over my shoulder to make sure he wasn't there. Him dying was the best news I'd had in weeks." He let out a strangled sob. "I'm a pretty sick person, huh?"

"No," Tom said firmly. Now that everything was in the open, now that he could be the father instead of the sheriff, he pulled Kevin close, wrapping him in a solid hug. "You're not sick. You're not wrong for wanting to feel safe. You've been through a hellish time, Kevin, and you've done it alone. But you don't have to be alone anymore. Whatever you're thinking, whatever you're feeling, I'm here for you now. You understand?"

Unable to give a verbal reply, Kevin just leaned forward and buried his face against Tom's neck, and Tom could feel his son's warm tears sliding down his collarbone. He pulled him as close as possible, gripping him with as much strength as he could, and Kevin returned the embrace, hooking his arms around Tom's neck. His son's slim form wracked with sobs and his breath only came in gasps, and Tom tried his best to steady him.

"It's all right," he murmured to Kevin, rubbing his back in soothing circles. "I'm here for you. I'm here.

A gust of wind rattled the bare tree limbs around them, blasting them both with chilly winter air, but other than shifting to shield Kevin from the cold, Tom didn't move, instead just letting Kevin cry against him.

As father and son sat, holding each other tightly, the moon emerged from behind the clouds, its pale, glimmering rays shining down on the both of them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Day Twenty-One**

Several minutes after Kevin's sobs had quieted, the wind increased significantly. The blast of frigid night air brought Kevin to tremble even more violently, and Tom knew it was time to take him inside to warm up.

"Let's move indoors, okay, kiddo?" Tom said, rising from the swing and gently but firmly pulling Kevin up as well and guiding him from the yard through the door. Once inside, he took Kevin to the family room, and switched on the propane fireplace. Removing his son's coat, he instead wrapped him in a blanket and situated him on the couch.

As he was arranging the blanket around Kevin's shoulders, Tom noticed Kevin was still shaking, and he quickly ran through a mental list of possible causes before landing on the most likely one.

"When did you last eat?" He asked with a frown.

Kevin just shrugged and didn't answer directly to the question. "I haven't been very hungry lately."

The apathetic response and tone worried Tom immensely, and he wanted to make sure that his son at least had some sort of nourishment before the next part of their conversation. "You just wait here, all right? I'm going to fix you something to eat." Giving Kevin's shoulder a squeeze, he rose from the couch and walked down the hall to the kitchen. Shucking off his jacket, he hung it, as well as Kevin's, over the back of a kitchen chair before moving to the pantry.

Within a few minutes, he returned to the family room, food and drink in hand. He set a plate of peanut butter crackers, Kevin's favorite from when he was a kid, and a mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table.

The barest trace of a smile tugged at Kevin's lips when he saw the plate of crackers, obviously remembering the same thing Tom had, and he reached out to take one. "Thanks, Dad."

"You're welcome, son," Tom said. He pointed at the hot chocolate. "Make sure you drink something, too." Kevin was never much of one for sweets, but with as much as Kevin had gone through recently, Tom wanted to be certain his blood sugar was stable.

Letting the next few minutes pass in silence so Kevin could peacefully eat, Tom tried to determine how best to approach the more sensitive questions he had to ask. He didn't want to scare Kevin or cause him any more grief, but he also needed to get some answers about Kevin's prolonged silence. Tom wanted to help his son, and he would do all that he could, but he also knew his ability to help would be hindered if Kevin didn't trust him.

When Kevin drained the last of his mug and set it back down on the coffee table, he turned to look at his father. Tom saw both weariness and expectancy in gaze. He knew a conversation was waiting to happen just as much as Tom did.

"You good to talk, Kev?" Tom asked, not wanting to exhaust him.

Kevin nodded once. "Yeah," he said quietly.

Tom took a deep breath. "You mentioned earlier that you went to a clinic. Have you gotten your test results back from there yet?"

"They came in the mail last week," Kevin replied tiredly. "There weren't any problems. I'm clean."

A wave of relief washed over Tom. At least Kevin wouldn't have any physical illnesses as a result of his attack. "All the same, I'd like for you to make an appointment at the doctor's office. Just for a routine physical so we can make sure no other problems came up," he added as he saw the apprehension flash over Kevin's face. "I can go with you, or you can go alone. Whichever you like."

"I'll go alone," Kevin said immediately, somewhat to Tom's dismay. He had been hoping Kevin would want him to be there, given that Kevin had allowed Tom few opportunities to lend him support. For whatever reason, Kevin seemed bound and determined to do everything on his own.

"All right," Tom conceded as he steeled himself for the next question. He could predict Kevin's response, and he knew the two of them were going to disagree on the matter. He needed to proceed with caution. "I know that you've been through a lot recently, and I don't want to pressure into make a decision. But what would you think of going to talk to a counselor?"

Kevin gave a sharp, sudden inhale, and Tom looked at him with concern.

"I couldn't," Kevin said hoarsely. "I just—I can't." He started shaking again, and his hands, which had been resting on his knees, clenched into fists.

"Hey, hey, it's all right." Tom rushed to reassure his son. "I just—" he searched to find the right words, wanting to avoid anything that seemed like a guilt trip. "I find that a lot of victims who report their assaults find it beneficial to talk to a mental health professional. Someone who's specifically trained to help them work past their attacks." He desperately wanted Kevin to begin seeing someone as soon as possible, but he also knew trying to force Kevin into therapy would do more harm than good.

There was a long pause, and when Kevin spoke again, his tone was tired and defeated. "I didn't report my attack, though, did I?"

The response brought Tom to blink in surprise, and he watched Kevin closely, taken aback he called attention to his refusal to confide in Tom. "No," he replied carefully. "You didn't."

"I bet you're wondering why." Kevin drew in a steadying breath. "When it first happened, I was just confused and scared. It might not make sense to say, but I didn't fully understand what had happened. But then when I did, I just didn't want any of this to come back to you." He swallowed. "Even though I can't remember all of it or remember it clearly, I have these images in my head, impressions of what happened. I didn't want to pass those along to you. I didn't think it would be right."

"Not right?" Tom repeated in disbelief. "Kevin, it's my job to handle these types of cases. More than that, I'm your father. It's my responsibility to take care of you and help you."

"I didn't want to worry you," Kevin confessed. "I watched you slave over the Blossom case for months. I knew how tired you were and how glad you were when it was finished. For me to destroy that . . ."

The words hit Tom like a suckerpunch to the stomach. "Kevin, listen to me." His tone was much sharper than he intended, and Tom took pains to make it gentler. "I would have helped you had you told me, and I can promise that I wouldn't have begrudged you half a goddamn second of my attention." Tom struggled to keep the despair out of his voice. "Don't you think that if there was ever a time I would be willing to give you all of my time and attention, it would have been then?"

Kevin shook his head miserably. "You should be able to rest when you get home, not have to deal with another tragedy entirely that I should have prevented. It wouldn't have been fair to involve you in a disaster that I caused. Everyone deserves a night off."

Tom reached out to grasp Kevin's shoulder. "What happened to you wasn't your fault. Not in the slightest. And I would have liked to helped you from the beginning, but I understand why you didn't tell me. What's important is that I'm here to help you now, and I'm not going to walk away. I'm more than just the sheriff, here, Kev—I'm your dad. I don't get nights off from being that, and I would never ask for them."

Kevin did not respond, only shifted to lean against Tom, resting his head on his shoulder. Tom moved his hand to rub soothing circles on Kevin's back. More than ever, he wished he could return to the days when Kevin was much younger, when his problems were ones that could easily be solved, when Tom could easily resolve any type of troubles Kevin was facing and be his hero when he saved the day.

Yet Kevin was no longer a child, and the issues plaguing him were not ones Tom or anyone else could fix. Tom could only do his best to help his son, and the rest was up to Kevin himself.

He wrapped his arm around Kevin's shoulders once more, tightening his grip on his son, and took a moment to fondly ruffle his son's hair.

It terrified him, honestly. Knowing not only the trauma his child had been subjected to, but also knowing that he couldn't definitely save him from the repercussions. But Tom would do everything that he could.

There was nothing more that he _could_ do.


	7. Chapter 7

**Day Twenty-Seven**

Tom allowed a full week to pass before he raised the topic of counselling to Kevin again. Though he was constantly nagged by the urge to bring it up sooner, he didn't want to take the risk of inadvertently driving Kevin away and convincing him to shut down conversation on the topic entirely. At least Kevin had talked about the rape to him—that was an improvement in comparison to his previous silence on the matter.

But Kevin seemed no less unhappy than he had been previously and even seemed somewhat worse. He was withdrawn at meals and impatient with both of his younger sisters, losing his temper at the slightest provocation and generally acting as if he could barely tolerate either of them. Patti was left near tears when Kevin ripped into her for making him late to drop her off for school. Meanwhile, Denise, who had inherited both her mother's red hair and her temper, wasn't afraid to give back to Kevin just as much as he gave, leading to extended verbal battles. The previous day Tom had arrived home to a shouting match and had just stepped in to intervene when Kevin stormed off to practice.

"What is _wrong_ with him?" Denise had asked, scowling after her brother as she flipped her long hair over her shoulder.

Inwardly sighing, Tom had drawn her into a quick hug, not wanting her to think he didn't care about Kevin's behavior, but also at a loss to condemn it. "Kev doesn't mean anything by it, sweetheart. He's just going through a tough time right now."

It was an understatement if there ever was one, and though Tom had known it beforehand, it was becoming increasingly clear that Kevin wasn't coping well. Numerous times during breaks at the office, he was itching to call one of the counselors he knew and arrange a session for Kevin. But he knew doing so without telling Kevin wouldn't help the issue at all; not giving him a choice in the matter would just make Kevin more resistant to the idea.

Never in his life had Tom been so frustrated. He wanted to help his son in the one way he could, but if he made a single misstep, he bore the risk of driving Kevin further away during a time when he desperately needed support.

And, as Tom was becoming increasingly aware, it didn't look like Kevin had much of an other support system in place. Weeks had passed without Kevin so much as mentioning his friends, though Tom had watched him sit by and let separate calls from Archie, Betty, Veronica, and Jughead go to voicemail. Kevin had merely glanced at the phone and then completely ignored it as if he couldn't be bothered to engage.

On some level, Tom understood. It was to be expected that Kevin wasn't ready to take on too much at once. But at some point, Kevin would have to resume normal life, and it was beginning to worry him the extent to which Kevin was avoiding the opportunity.

"You going out tomorrow night?" Tom asked him on Thursday, trying to keep his tone as casual as he could.

Kevin shook his head. "Homework," he replied without elaborating.

Tom had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from urging Kevin to go out with his friends. He didn't want to hassle him given all that he'd been through, but Kevin's lack of interest in keeping up his social life was a continued source of worry for him. Of course, he'd grounded Kevin earlier that month, a decision he now immensely regretted given the circumstances, even though he hadn't known better at the time. And even besides that, it was entirely normal and expected for victims to go through a period of despondency as they recovered from their trauma.

But it was beginning to concern him that Kevin seemed to make no effort toward recovery. It was almost, Tom mused with dread coiling in the pit of his stomach, as if he'd already given up.

 _No._ Tom's fists clenched at the thought. He wasn't giving up on Kevin, and Kevin wasn't giving up, either.

Friday night marked the end of Kevin's swim team season, and for the first time in months, he didn't have to run off right before dinner. Worried that his son hadn't been getting enough rest, Tom convinced him to relax on the couch as he prepared their evening meal. It was only the two of them; Kathy was home for the weekend and had taken the girls out for a night of shopping and movies, largely to give Kevin some space.

Tom had told her of the attack Kevin had suffered, and she'd been understandably devastated.

" 'Dead'?" she'd repeated, her blue eyes wide as she struggled to absorb the full meaning of Tom's words. "You're telling me this monster raped my son and then just—just up and died?"

In the privacy of their bedroom, Tom admitted to her the truth he'd never told anyone, not even Kevin. "I tend to look at it as karma myself," he'd said quietly. "I'd rather have him dead. It makes things easier for Kevin."

"I hope he rots in hell," Kathy said fiercely. "How dare he hurt my child that way. Death is too good for him."

Now, Tom was trying to be casual and conversational as he watched Kevin finish his dinner. Again, he observed that his son ate next to nothing, instead pushing food around on his plate before finally setting his fork down.

"Maybe I be excused?" Kevin asked tonelessly.

"Hold on just a minute," Tom said. Concluding his own meal, he moved his plate aside to focus on Kevin. "I have something that I want to talk about."

Kevin shrugged. "Sure."

 _Time to put your cards on the table._ Tom took a deep breath, trying to keep his tone as gentle and encouraging as he could. "I want you to see a therapist."

"No." Kevin's response was instantaneous, his tone becoming harsh and his face closing off.

"It's something you might want to at least consider," Tom replied carefully, trying to avoid giving any kind of order. He was exceedingly cautious not to tell Kevin _You have to_ or _You need to_. It would only increase Kevin's aversion to the prospect.

"It's not going to help." Kevin stood abruptly. "I'm going to my room."

"Kevin." Tom allowed a note of warning to creep into his voice. "Please sit down. I'm not asking you to see someone to make your life difficult. I'm trying to make sure you're okay."

Kevin returned to his seat, wariness apparent. "I don't want to have to talk to any therapist."

Tom studied Kevin and tried to make his next question as neutral as possible. "Is there a particular reason you feel this way?"

"You want to know why?" Kevin rubbed at his face with his hands. "Because it's not fair, that's why." He chuckled mirthlessly. "Sound childish, doesn't it? But I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel that way. David Perkins destroys my life in a matter of minutes, and then he just dies . He dies, and everyone goes on to talk about him like he was some fucking hero."

Tom reached out a hand to grip Kevin's shoulder, his heart twisting as he once again fruitlessly wished the events surrounding his son's rape had either taken place differently or hadn't occurred at all. While he'd been truthful to Kathy that he was glad of David's death, he would have also liked Kevin to have seen some closure on the matter for his own sake.

"I know that it's hard," he tried to say, but Kevin was already shaking his head.

" 'Hard'? Dad, you've got no idea. He got off scot-free! He never had to deal with consequences for anything he did! And now I have to go to school and listen to goddamn memorial services for him. Every time I walk into the building, I have to see the fucking shrine they put up to him in the school lobby. I have to listen to my teachers talk about what a great loss it was, how devastating it is. And the whole time, I want to scream at them and tell them not to be so stupid, that the bastard they're mourning is a rapist and an all-around scumbag, but—" a half-laugh, half sob escaped from his throat. "I can't actually fucking say that, can I?"

"I'm sorry," Tom told him, his voice raw and a deep ache beginning in his chest as he listened to his son's clear anguish. "I know me apologizing isn't going to help, but I can't ever tell you how sorry I am about what happened to you."

Kevin swallowed, no doubt working to push away tears. "I know, Dad, I know. And I get that you're just trying to help. But this—I just don't see how _talking_ is somehow going to make that all better. How is just talking is going to make that go away?"

Tom drew in a steadying breath. "I'll be honest: it's not. Nothing is going to take away what happened to you. And now you have to decide how you're going to manage the situation from this point forward. If you want to move on, you have to make that decision and that effort. I'm sorry, but that's the way things are. Talking isn't going make anything go away, but it might make it easier for you to handle what went on."

"It's not just not goddamn fair." Kevin's voice was fraught with pain and weariness. "He ruins my life, and I have to pick up the pieces while he just gets to _leave_."

"Oh, Kev." Tom tightened his grip on his shoulder. "I hate everything about what David did to you. And you're completely correct—it's not right that you got hurt through no fault of your own. It's not fair that David never had to pay for his crime and instead you're stuck with the responsibility. But this is a part of your life now. No matter how much you don't want it to be. I know that it's hard to accept. I know things shouldn't be this way. But they are, and while your mom and I are here to help you get your life back in order, you've got to make that commitment, too."

Kevin dropped his head into his hands. "I just wish I didn't have to do anything. That things could just go back to being how they were. Back before." His voice cracked on the final word.

Not letting go of his hold on his son, Tom used his other hand to tenderly brush back Kevin's hair from his forehead. "Believe me, If I could do this for you, if I had a way of making sure you were one hundred percent better after all of this, I'd do it in a heartbeat. But I can't make that choice for you. I can't make this go away for you, Kevin. It kills me to admit it, but I can't. I can only offer you my help and advice on what to do. I know it's not fair, but it's ultimately up to you to get your life back on track. No one else is going to do it for you. Hell, no one else can . All I can do is be here for you. But," he added firmly, "I will always be here for you. Always ."

Too overcome to reply, Kevin just nodded, and Tom could only hope that his message had gotten through. For several minutes, they sat in silence, until Kevin spoke again.

"So, this therapy thing," he began hesitantly. "You really think it's a good idea?"

"It's not going to make you better instantly," Tom told him gently. "But it's a step. It's a way of making progress. And to tell you the truth . . ." he hesitated briefly, not wanting to guilt-trip Kevin, but also wanting to be honest with him. "I'd feel a lot better if you went," he added finally.

"Okay," Kevin said quietly. "I still don't have any expectations for it to help me, but I trust you." He offered his father a shaky smile. "If you really think that it's worth a shot, I guess I'll give it a try."

Tom gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Thank you, son." He rose from the table. "I'm going to have a cup of decaf. You want anything?"

"I'll take some, too, please." Kevin gripped his father's hand briefly. "And Dad? Thanks for everything."

Tom ruffled his hair lightly. "No problem."

As Tom moved to the stove to put the water on, he felt as though as enormous weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. He'd been determined that Kevin would emerge from these events okay—Tom had vowed to make sure of it. But now, he had hope that maybe they could get through without needing to fight tooth and nail to make their way. Maybe just some honest effort would be enough.


	8. Epilogue

**Day Ninety**

After a long winter of blistering winds and seemingly endless snowstorms that wound up continuing well into April, spring had finally come to Riverdale. The early May afternoon was sunny and beautiful, clear with a deep blue sky, and Tom using one of his rare days off to work in the garden and make sure the flowerbeds were prepped and ready. After laboring the backyard for hours, he was just stripping off his work gloves to head inside for a break when a familiar voice called to him from across the lawn. He turned to find Sierra McCoy lifting the latch on the gate to let herself in through the fence.

"Hey, Sierra," Tom greeted her as he ambled over to meet her. "Sorry for the state I'm in." He gestured over to the flowers. "I decided to use the free time I had to get the garden into shape."

"Well, it's certainly shaping up, no doubt thanks to your efforts as a weekend warrior," Sierra quipped, but then her expression grew serious. "I didn't mean to drop in on you like this, Tom, but I have an update on the David Perkins memorial that I'd thought you'd like to hear in person."

Tom paused, trepidation rushing through him. "Oh?"

"After Kevin's written statement, the Riverdale High administration decided that because of the nature of the charges against David, as well as some previous allegations about his conduct, the planned memorial at the high school is being permanently scrapped," Sierra informed him. "I thought you and your family should know right away."

"Thank you," Tom answered automatically while his mind raced. " 'Prior allegations'? What does that mean? David had no police record. There isn't a trace of any past complaints about him in our system."

Sierra shook her head. "I don't know, Tom. I'm guessing it could mean that the school has received prior reports about David for sexual misconduct but keep quiet about it. However, that's only a guess. I wasn't given any specifics."

"Typical," Tom said disgustedly. "They cover for a rapist and then become concerned about his victims only when they run the risk of being held liable." He shook his head. "Well, at any rate, I'm glad you told me about this, Sierra. Kathy and I have been worried, and Kevin . . ."

"How's he doing, by the way?" Sierra asked in concern. "Is he . . . doing well?"

Tom paused to consider his question. For almost two months now, Kevin had been attending weekly one-on-one meetings with a therapist. Obviously, a few therapy sessions didn't wipe away his pain, but in Tom's opinion, it seemed to be helping. Yes, there were days when Kevin seemed weary or withdrawn, and there were some nights when Kevin didn't seem to sleep and Tom found him already downstairs in the mornings well before six o'clock. But whether it was due to the counseling or simply being given the proper time to heal, Kevin seemed far more optimistic than he had back during the winter. It was an enormous relief both to Tom and to Kathy.

Recently, though, news of a potential memorial for David Perkins being constructed at Riverdale High had brought endless anxiety to Kevin, and Tom had known the matter was never far from his mind. It would be a relief to tell Kevin he no longer needed to think about the possibility any longer.

"He's improving," Tom answered eventually. "But he's changed. It's only to be expected, and I don't begrudge him that, but it's undeniable."

Sierra nodded in understanding. "I'm not surprised to hear that. But I can only hope that the lack of a memorial will help Kevin and anyone else who might be out there in their recovery." She paused, and for a moment they simply stood quietly before she continued. "I can't impose on you for any longer. But if there's anything you or your family need, Tom, just let me know."

Tom smiled gratefully at his friend and colleague. "Thank you, Sierra. I appreciate it. And thank you for this news as well."

They exchanged goodbyes, and she went on her way. Not long after she'd left, just when Tom had finished his break and returned outside for further work on the garden, two more individuals walked into the backyard: Kevin and a boy he'd bringing home a lot lately, a Southside Serpent named Joaquin DeSantos.

"Hey, Dad!" Kevin called to him, smiling as they walked over to join him.

"Hello, boys," Tom said, a smile of his own tugging up his lips as they approached. "Enjoying your afternoon?"

Kevin nodded, his former enthusiasm glimpsing through as his eyes shone with excitement. "We just ran into Betty and Jughead at Pop's, and we agreed to go to the spring formal as a group," he said, glancing over at Joaquin as he did, happiness evident.

Though Joaquin appeared slightly more relaxed, he seemed no less happy than Kevin. "And then once we did, we thought your backyard might be a good place to take photos beforehand. As long as it's okay with you, of course." His voice was level as he spoke, and he looked at Tom with a steady gaze. His calm, controlled demeanor was part of the reason Tom had grown to respect him—that, and Joaquin's genuine fondness for Kevin.

"Of course," Tom told the two of them amiably. "All of you are welcome here any time."

"Fantastic." Kevin looked quite pleased and, taking one of Joaquin's hand's in his, tugged him toward the gazebo. "C'mon, let's figure out which spot has the best lighting."

Joaquin slipped his hand out of Kevin's grasp only to loop it around his shoulders as he walked alongside him. "Hell, as far as I'm concerned, preppy, you look good in any lighting."

A warm, familiar feeling started to gradually build within Tom as he watched Kevin guide Joaquin over to the gazebo and start taking practice shots with his phone's camera, and several moments passed before he was able to recognize it. It was a relaxed contentedness, a satisfaction that mostly everything in his life was going well at this point. And after the nightmare that Kevin had been forced to endure, it was a welcome change. But what was important was that Kevin had endured, that he'd fought to retake control of his life and refused to let David Perkins destroy him.

Now, Kevin was looking forward to the future. He was making plans, he was enjoying time with his friends once again, and even in the aftermath of his tragedy, he had managed to give Joaquin a chance and found happiness with him.

Over at the gazebo, Joaquin had become tired of posing for Kevin.

"Come on, preppy," he said teasingly, descending the steps only to take Kevin by the hands and pull him back up with him. "Let me show you that I can be admired up close in addition to at a distance."

"Fine," Kevin returned, sending him a challenging look. "Show me."

The two of them embraced beneath the entryway, Joaquin just barely brushing his lips against Kevin's before he led him further inside the gazebo, disappearing into the shadows with him. Regardless, Tom turned away to allow the young couple privacy, deciding to wash up inside and let them have their space. Ordinarily, he might have worried over his son dating a Serpent, but now he was grateful that Joaquin's presence seemed to go a long way toward restoring Kevin's hope. And frankly, he thought Kevin going out to a dance, with his friends and a boy who cared for him, would do his son some good.

At the thought of a dance, a memory from months ago drifted into Tom's mind, about what Kevin had told him of one of the last times he'd seen David Perkins before he died. _He asked me to the spring formal . . . I don't think he understood anything about what he did to me._

An old anger burned in Tom's chest at the thought, a constant outrage he carried with him that flared whenever Perkins name was mentioned. But little by little, the fire was dimming as Kevin made greater progress. David Perkins might have been despicable, but he was dead and buried and would not be memorialized at Kevin's high school. That had to be enough now—there was no reason for Tom to want anything else where Perkins was concerned. His focus should now be on Kevin and Kevin alone.

And Kevin . . . Kevin might not be entirely recovered, and it was doubtful that he ever would be. He would always have his scars.

Deciding he'd had enough of gardening for the day, Tom picked up his tools to carry them into the back shed. He'd go inside and wash up, and maybe bring some lemonade and food out to Kevin and Joaquin and check what night the dance was going to be so he could make sure to get home early to see them off.

As he heard his son's laughter float through the air as he walked away, a smile began to take form on Tom's face. Even if all wasn't back to normal, even if it all wouldn't be, at least circumstances were beginning to turn out right.

"Dad!" It was Kevin who called to him, and when Tom turned, he found Kevin jogging up to him.

Kevin slowed to a halt in front of his, his face growing somber. "I just wanted to say thanks," he said lowly, seriousness in his gaze. "Not just for letting us take pictures here, but for everything. Everything you and Mom have done for me these past few months."

"Hey." Tom placed a hand on Kevin's shoulder, holding his gaze. "You don't have to thank me for that." He gathered Kevin into a hug, holding him for a moment and rubbing his back before letting go. "Get back to your boyfriend now," he told Kevin fondly. "I'm sure he's eagerly awaiting you."

Kevin gave him a quiet smile and another whispered, "Thanks," before he went on his way.

Tom watched him go with a smile of his own. His family made it. They'd all been through hell—no parent ever wanted to see their child suffer as he and Kathy had seen Kevin, and of course, Kevin had been through the worst of all, but they'd made it. Yes, Kevin was still hurting. Yes, it would be a long time, maybe never, before his pain would fully ease. But, Tom knew, they had all survived, and his son was happy again. That was all Tom could ever ask for.


End file.
